


Discord

by zathara001



Series: Brothers [3]
Category: Leverage, The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Gen, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, that's okay. I'm a better thief than he is. I'll help. What are we stealing?" When Jacob calls Eliot for assistance, Parker answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to part three of my Brothers-verse. Part one is Estranged, and part two is Brotherhood, and you might want to read those before you read this one.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing to do with the Librarians or Leverage, sadly. If Dean Devlin or anyone who does own them wants anything of this, it's theirs.

Jacob Stone loved everything about being a Librarian, from having access to every art portfolio in history to finding out that there really were more things in heaven and earth than had been dreamt of in his philosophy.

 

Even when those things were dragons.

 

And even when one of those dragons - Eastern, according to Flynn - was sitting one room away, in the main room at the Annex, threatening to wreak havoc if their stolen treasure weren't returned.

 

It was, Jacob reflected, all in a day's work. Much more interesting work than the family business or an oil rig.

 

"All right," Flynn said as he came back into the anteroom where Jacob, Eve Baird, and Cassandra Cillian were waiting. "Ezekiel's the Arbiter, can't do anything about that, but I did manage to get Jenkins appointed as Consigliere."

 

"That helps how?" Eve asked.

 

"Jenkins will keep Ezekiel from doing anything too stupid while we go search for the missing treasure."

 

"He called it a pearl," Cassandra said. "A mystic pearl."

 

"Mr. Drake represents the Eastern dragons," Flynn said, "so I'm guessing he means the Pearl of Zhou. If the Western dragons stole it, their last known stronghold was in the caverns underneath Rome."

 

"So we're going to Rome to fight dragons who stole a mystic pearl?" Cassandra asked.

 

Jacob had to grin. "I love this job."

 

"Hopefully not fight," Flynn said. "More of an extraction."

 

"We're talking a heist," Eve said.

 

"We're taking it back," Jacob confirmed, still grinning at the prospect. "It's a repo job."

 

"The one time we absolutely need Jones, there's no way to pull him free?" Eve sounded frustrated.

 

"No," Flynn confirmed. "He's stuck for as long as it takes to review the dragons' grievances."

 

"How long will that be?" Cassandra asked.

 

"Well, they've been adding to the list since the last intercession," Flynn said. "That was in 1906, so it could be a while."

 

Jacob felt his grin fading as the enormity of what they were doing finally surfaced and, with it, a solution to at least part of the problem.

 

"I'll call Eliot," he said.

 

"Who's Eliot?" Cassandra and Flynn said, almost in unison.

 

"No," Eve said.

 

"He retrieves things," Jacob reminded her. "And you know his other skills. Might be good to have with us if things go sideways."

 

"Sideways?" Flynn sounded skeptical. "Things never go sideways."

 

"Things always go sideways." It was Jacob's turn to chorus with Eve.

 

Then Eve sighed. "I don't like it, but you're right."

 

Jacob reached for his phone, the fancy new one Eliot had given him, tapped the contacts, and then E for Eliot.

 

"Who are you and what do you want?" It was a woman's voice, suspicious and even hostile.

 

Jacob checked the display - no, he'd definitely tapped the E. "It's Jacob - Jake. I want to talk to Eliot."

 

"Jake?" the woman sounded confused now. Then, "Oh! Happy Eliot!"

 

The nickname almost made him smile, even as it confirmed he was talking to Parker. "Can I talk to Eliot?"

 

"No."

 

Jacob waited, but when she didn't say anything else, he asked, "Why not?"

 

"Just a sec." Jacob could hear muffled conversation for a few moments before Parker spoke into the phone again. "I think it's because he's getting stitches. Hardison thinks it's because he's sedated."

 

Jacob blinked at her casual reference to his twin being hurt. Before he could ask for details, she said, "What's up?"

 

"I was going to ask for his help retrieving something," Jacob said. "But -"

 

Parker cut him off. "Oh, that's okay. I'm a better thief than he is. I'll help. What are we stealing?"

 

"A pearl. From a dragon."

 

"Cool - I've never stolen from a dragon before. I'll get my gear and be there in twenty."

 

#

 

"So who is this person we don't know that you've invited to the Library?" Flynn asked as Jacob led them to the Annex's mundane entrance.

 

"I know her," Jacob said. "Eve knows her."

 

"I do?" Eve said. Then she frowned. "Wait - the blonde from the bar?"

 

"Brewpub," Jacob corrected. "And there were two blondes."

 

"It's not Dr. Collins," Eve said. "Not from the way you talked to her. So it's the other blonde from the bar. Brewpub. Who is she?"

 

"A friend of Eliot's," Jacob said. "And a pretty good pickpocket, at least. She's willing to help us get the pearl back."

 

"Maybe she can help," Cassandra said. "I mean, she's obviously not Ezekiel, but having a thief along can only help. Right?"

 

Flynn muttered something about trust and thieves, and Jacob tuned them out. He'd met Parker a couple of times, and there was no denying the woman was … odd. The only question was, what form would her oddness take today?

 

He opened the door to late afternoon sun and saw Parker, clad all in black, her long blonde hair tucked up into a black leather cap. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder. If she'd meant to be intimidating, the effort failed when she smiled.

 

"Let's go steal a pearl," she said. "Where is it?"

 

"Rome," Jacob answered automatically.

 

"Oh. I could've met you at the airport."

 

"No need," Flynn said. He'd either accepted Jacob's judgment in this, or he'd decided to go with events and see what happened. With Flynn, either possibility was equally likely. "We have other ways of travel."

 

"What other ways?" Parker asked. "Ooh! Magic's real - do you have a flying carpet?"

 

"Not at the moment," Flynn said. "But they're not good for long distances anyway - too much wind, too cold at altitude."

 

Parker seemed to accept that, and Jacob led the way through the corridors of the Annex to the Back Door. The route took them straight to the main room, where Jenkins and Ezekiel sat with Drake.

 

Drake didn't bother to acknowledge them, but Jenkins looked up, blinked when he saw Parker, but otherwise didn't react. Ezekiel, however, never knew when to stay quiet.

 

"Who's that?" he asked.

 

"A friend," Jacob said before Parker could answer.

 

"A consultant for this mission," Flynn added. His tone was harder when he continued, "Since the Arbiter can't leave the Intercession, we were forced to bring in a consultant."

 

It was obvious Ezekiel wanted to protest, but Jenkins merely said, "Good luck, sir."

 

"Thank you, Jenkins," Flynn said, then he opened the Back Door, and stepped through into a night.

 

Baird and Cassandra followed. Parker looked skeptical, and Jacob took a step forward. "C'mon."

 

Parker looked at him, seemed to take some reassurance from just his presence, and then stepped forward. Jacob stayed beside her as they stepped through the portal.

 

"We're in Rome," Parker said as the door closed behind them.

 

"Wow," Cassandra said, staring out over the skyline.

 

Jacob agreed with the sentiment. "This was on my bucket list."

 

Flynn brought them back to the present. "The entrance to the dragons' lair is in a little courtyard off the Vatican."

 

"Where's the Vatican?" Eve asked.

 

"I don't know," Cassandra said. "You'd think being up this high we could see it."

 

"You can," Parker said. "Technically."

 

"Technically?" Eve asked. "What does that mean?"

 

"It means we're on the Vatican," Parker said. "See up there? That's where I anchored my rig last time I was here."

 

"You've been here before." Flynn sounded dubious.

 

"I broke into the archive." By contrast, Parker sounded matter-of-fact, almost nonchalant. "I don't know why anyone would want an old book, but they paid really well. Which courtyard?"

 

"Western dragons, western courtyard," Flynn said.

 

"This way." Parker was gone almost before she finished saying the words. From the expressions on his companions' faces, Jacob wasn't the only one who wasn't sure where she'd gone.

 

Then a man in green robes came from one side. " _Scusi. Scusi._ "

 

"Thinking we should go," Flynn said.

 

"Where?" Eve asked.

 

"Here." Parker's voice came from the shadows, and Jacob realized she'd opened a concealed door. "Come on, he's seen you."

 

"Was that the Pope?" Cassandra asked, her tone caught somewhere between awed and schoolgirl excited.

 

"Possibly," Flynn answered. "She's right, let's go."

 

And then they were in the passage Parker had found, just as alarms started to sound. The door closed behind them, muffling the noise.

 

"What is this place?" Eve asked.

 

"A secret passage, of course," Parker answered. "The Vatican's got lots."

 

"And you know where we're going?" Cassandra asked.

 

"West," Parker said. "This way."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jacob followed Parker out of the tunnels and into a courtyard - which, he decided, was just a fancy term for a fountain that served as the center of a cobblestoned traffic roundabout.

 

Flynn rushed past them, looked around. "This is it. This is the entrance."

 

"What are we looking for?" Cassandra asked.

 

"We're looking for riddles," Flynn declared. "Three things dragons love - sleeping, Russ Meyer movies, and riddles."

 

"Riddles," Cassandra said, and Jacob recognized the tone in her voice - that tone meant she was going into math mode. "Riddles are puzzles, puzzles like a series of stones, some raised slightly higher than the others? Like, raised, rising -"

 

Parker poked Jacob's arm, pulling his attention to her. "She get like this a lot?"

 

"Sometimes," Jacob answered, and focused on Cassandra again.

 

"Fibonacci," she said, and Flynn chorused it with her.

 

"Fibonacci sequence," Cassandra continued. "Golden ratios, golden like honey, honey and bees. Honey and oatmeal -"

 

She was starting to lose it, Jacob thought, and stepped forward to catch her arm. "Cassandra, listen to me."

 

Cassandra didn't look at him, and he repeated, "Cassandra, listen to me," a little more forcefully.

 

Finally she looked at him, and he said, "The other memory."

 

She blinked. "Right. The other memory."

 

"Right," Jacob agreed, and Cassandra started talking again.

 

"Honey, it's bees again but I'm nine years old. Ouch. I'm stung. It hurts. It's dying, but I feel its pain. The pain, the - I got it."

 

Jacob watched Cassandra start hopping from one stone to another, ignoring Parker's muttered, "And people think I'm crazy," just as he ignored Flynn's surprise that Cassandra hadn't lost control.

 

Cassandra hopped, and hopped again. Then she paused.

 

"Oh, I lost it." She sounded forlorn. "I don't know where it is, it's either the left or the center or the right. I'm not sure which one."

 

Jacob stepped forward, intending to comfort her somehow, maybe encourage her, but something caught his eye.

 

"These are not all the same stone," he said, gesturing at the cobblestoned street. "This is early Roman concrete, right after they switched from marble. The ones she pushed were concrete, not rock - like that one."

 

Jacob stepped forward, onto a concrete stone raised slightly higher than the others, and stepped immediately back as a hole opened in the street beneath his boot.

 

"Do you have any idea what's down there?" Eve demanded.

 

"No," Flynn said, grinning. "That's the best part. I think -"

 

"That I should go first, as Guardian," Eve finished.

 

"Too late," Jacob said.

 

"What?" Eve and Flynn turned to him.

 

"Parker's already gone."

 

#

 

"Are you sure you want to do this, brah?" Alec Hardison asked.

 

Eliot Spencer glared at his friend even as he grabbed the railing of the hospital bed to support his wobbly legs. His clothes were seven feet away in the built-in cabinet on the opposite wall. Once he got to those, got them on instead of a hospital gown, he could get the hell out of here.

 

"Dammit, Hardison - why'd you let them knock me out?"

 

Hardison sat in one of the visitor chairs, trying to look nonchalant. "Because you needed stitches."

 

"My left arm. I could've done 'em myself. Or Parker could." The world stopped spinning and Eliot let go of the bed. Seven feet, seven steps - five if he were lucky - and then he'd have his clothes and could get out of here.

 

He didn't hate hospitals as much as Nate Ford did - hell, he respected them and the doctors that staffed them. What he hated was the lack of privacy and the lack of quiet, both of which helped him recover.

 

"Fine, you could've," Hardison said. "Doesn't mean you gotta. Besides, you hadn't slept more than five minutes at a time for seventy-two hours, and you were practically unconscious when we got here. You needed the sleep."

 

That was the trouble with civilians, Eliot thought. They didn't - couldn't - understand the training he'd had, the experiences he'd had, that made him so leery of losing control. And with Parker and Hardison, his wishes were increasingly falling on deaf ears.

 

Later, when he was home, he'd remind himself that they were his friends, they were acting in what they thought was his best interest, and, most important, he'd chosen to let them in, to give them the freedom to do just what they'd done today.

 

For now, every instinct he'd ever had was screaming at him to get _out_ , to get someplace _safe_ , and he took a cautious step toward the cabinet holding his clothes.

 

In the chair to his left, Hardison was practically radiating nervous tension. Eliot ignored him, took another step, and another, his confidence growing as his legs held steady under him.

 

"C'mon, man," Hardison said. "It's okay to stay a little longer - at least until the doctor makes rounds."

 

"It won't be the first time I checked myself out AMA," Eliot said. "Home's more comfortable, anyway - quieter. Better for recovery."

 

Eliot reached the cabinet, tugged it open, only a little surprised to see clean clothes folded neatly on one of the shelves. Hardison's doing, of course - Parker would've left the clothes he'd been wearing when he checked in, no matter how dirty or bloody they might have gotten.

 

Speaking of…. "Where's Parker?"

 

Eliot pulled clean briefs from the shelf, grateful for an excuse to lean against the cabinet as he raised one foot then the other before pulling the briefs up.

 

"Don't know. She got a call a while ago and took off."

 

"A call? From who?"

 

"Didn't say. But I did see her putting your phone in the cabinet before she left. Maybe the call came on your phone."

 

Mid-reach, Eliot shifted his target from his jeans to his phone, tapped the recent calls icon. There was only one call recent enough to have come while he was in the hospital, identified by a single letter: _J._

 

Eliot frowned. Why had Jake called, and what had he said to make Parker take off without explanation to Hardison?

 

The only way to find out was to call his twin, but that could wait until he was dressed. Eliot set his phone aside and reached for his jeans.

 

The room spun, and he clutched at the cabinet.

 

In a heartbeat, Hardison was by his side. "C'mon, man, I get it. We know you're strong, we know you're tough. It's okay not to be, sometimes. We got you."

 

"We," Eliot repeated.

 

"Yes, _we_ , even if it's only me at the moment." Hardison offered an arm. "At least let the drugs wear off a little more."

 

That made sense - or Eliot let himself believe it made sense - and he stumbled back to the bed, leaning more on Hardison than he wanted to acknowledge.

 

"There you go," Hardison said as Eliot leaned back on the uncomfortable hospital bed. "It's okay, I got you."

 

Eliot let his eyes close. Just a moment, he thought. He'd rest just a moment, and then he'd be ready to go.

 

#

 

They caught up with Parker at the entrance to a stone room that could have been a museum, Jacob thought. In the center of the room, a stone carving of a horse seemed to stand guard - though it faced away from the doorway they'd approached, instead apparently focused on an exit on the far side of the room. To its right stood a carved wooden bar. The walls were lined with paintings and weapons, but those weren't what drew his attention the most.

 

No, his attention was drawn to the far left corner, where three velvet-lined boxes stood open. On each one, a pearl gleamed in the dim light.

 

"Which one?" Parker asked without turning.

 

"Is this a riddle or a trap?" Eve countered.

 

"Probably both," Flynn said, and waved his hand up and down along either side of the doorway.

 

"I'll check," Eve said, and took a step into the room.

 

A _click_ sounded as her foot touched down.

 

"That's never a good sound," she muttered, and almost before she finished the sentence, a flurry of darts exploded out from opposite walls.

 

Flynn yanked Eve back, stumbling into Jacob as he did. Parker appeared unfazed.

 

"Which one?" she asked again, now turning to face Jacob and the others.

 

"There's a trap," Eve said.

 

"You shouldn't have tripped it. You were clumsy." Parker looked directly at Jacob. "Which one?"

 

"They look identical from here," Jacob replied. "Any ideas, Flynn?"

 

"Dragons always leave clues," Flynn said. "It may be a riddle, but there'll be a clue. We need to look at the pearls more closely."

 

Parker tapped Jacob's arm. "C'mon."

 

"What?" Flynn said. "I'm the Librarian, I should -"

 

"You can't be quiet," Parker said. "Happy Eliot can. Not as quiet as Grumpy Eliot, but enough."

 

She gathered Jacob with a glance, and when she spoke again her voice was barely above a whisper. "Just step where I step, and don't say anything."

 

Jacob nodded, and then focused on watching Parker's feet as she took one step, then two.

 

"That's it?" Flynn demanded, and a flurry of darts emerged from the walls once more.

 

Jacob had no clear memory of everything that happened next, just a jumble of images: Parker doing some incredibly gymnastic movements, Eve clapping her hand over Flynn's mouth, and Jacob himself turning to Flynn, fist cocked to knock the other man into the far wall.

 

The only thing that stopped him from doing just that was Flynn's own horrified expression. Jacob's stomach lurched sideways, painfully.

 

If anything happened to Parker, Eliot - well, Jacob didn't know exactly what Eliot would do. He did know it would be very unpleasant.

 

He turned back to the room, steeling himself against whatever he might see - and jumped when he realized that Parker was almost on him, a dart in her hand and murder in her eyes.

 

Jacob flinched from that gaze, in the same instant realizing it wasn't directed at him, but past him - at Flynn.

 

Jacob shifted slightly, putting himself more between Parker and Flynn. Behind him, Eve was tense, ready for a fight.

 

"Parker, don't," Jacob said, keeping his voice low. "It was a mistake, he's sorry, and it won't happen again."

 

His words didn't seem to register, so he took a more drastic step, reaching out to grasp her arms as she got closer.

 

"The dart could be poisoned," he said, and was rewarded by Parker's gaze snapping to meet his.

 

"Like in those movies Hardison likes?" she asked.

 

"Yeah, like in those movies," Jacob agreed, hoping he was thinking of the same ones. "Flynn's a lot like Hardison, now you mention him. You don't want to stab Hardison, do you?"

 

Parker blew out a breath. "No stabbing."

 

Jacob concealed his own sigh of relief. "No stabbing."

 

Parker turned back toward the room that held their objective, the pearl. "No stabbing," she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "No stabbing."

 

With a final glare at Flynn, Jacob focused on Parker once more.

 

"Watch," she said, and he nodded.

 

Two minutes later, Jacob stood beside Parker, staring down at three pearls the size of grapefruit.

 

Then Parker's lips were at his ear. "They're all alike," she breathed. "Which one do we steal?"

 

Jacob frowned, studying the tableau before them. She was right, the pearls were all identical, or close enough to that any differences would require analysis in a laboratory.

 

Then he saw it, and it was his turn to whisper in her ear.

 

"The boxes are different," he said. "The left, that's African woodcarving. The right, Nineteenth Century Russian. The center - that's East Asian. Ichiboku style."

 

Confident in his analysis, Jacob reached for the center pearl.

 


	3. Chapter 3

When Eliot woke again, two things were immediately apparent. First, he'd slept a couple more hours - a couple more hours he could've slept at home. Second, he felt much more like himself. The drugs had mostly worn out of his system. He looked around. Hardison was still in the visitor's chair, focused on his laptop, probably playing one of his online games. Still there was no sign of Parker.

 

Parker. Memory returned. Hardison said she'd taken a call from his phone and left. Eliot had checked, and the call had come from Jake.

 

"Any other calls while I was out?"

 

Eliot bit back a grin at the way Hardison jumped half out of the chair. "Damn, man, don't startle a guy!"

 

"Don't get so caught up in your games that you're not aware of your surroundings," Eliot replied, knowing Hardison would do as Hardison pleased, regardless of what Eliot might say. It was one of the things that made keeping him - and, by extension, Parker - safe so difficult.

 

Once again, Eliot swung his legs over the side of the bed, and this time he was rewarded only with pain when he unconsciously braced himself with his left hand, not a wave of dizziness.

 

"Better," he muttered, and stood.

 

Hardison had folded his jeans and left them on the foot of the bed. Eliot moved equally gingerly as he pulled the jeans up one leg and then the other.

 

He'd gotten his boots on and tied, grateful for the excuse to sit down while he did, and was reaching for an undershirt when his phone rang.

 

Reflexively, Eliot checked the display. _M_ for Maggie. He took the call.

 

"Hey, Maggie."

 

"I wanted to let you know I finished the inventory. Everything's authentic, but that probably doesn't surprise you."

 

"Not really," Eliot agreed. "Anything stand out?"

 

"Stand out how?" Maggie asked.

 

"Too clean, too good a condition for its age? Whatever. You're the expert, Mags, you tell me."

 

"Other than the ones Quinn asked about?"

 

Eliot grunted. He'd forgotten that Quinn had asked for an item from the Brotherhood's inventory in lieu of a cash fee for protecting Maggie.

 

"Are you all right?" Maggie asked.

 

"Fine," Eliot said. There was a rustling noise, then a new voice came over the phone.

 

"Do you want backup?" Quinn asked.

 

Part of Eliot's mind appreciated the phrasing - want instead of need - but all he could do was chuckle. "Fight's over."

 

"You don't sound like it." That was one thing about Quinn, Eliot thought. He was always honest.

 

"Drugs are still wearing off," Eliot replied, then answered the question Quinn was about to ask. "Parker and Hardison dragged me to a hospital."

 

"You must've been unconscious at the time."

 

"I was." Or close enough. Time to get back to the matter at hand. "So Maggie's done."

 

"Does my contract extend to getting her home safely?"

 

"To the airport," Eliot said. "Lamia can have one of the men drive you both."

 

"She's not here."

 

Eliot frowned at that information. True, Lamia wasn't a prisoner, but … "Where is she?"

 

"She left the day before yesterday, didn't say where she was going."

 

"What time did she leave?"

 

"About ten a.m."

 

Eliot thought quickly, calculating flight times. Lamia could've gotten anywhere in the world by now, contacted others in the Serpent Brotherhood - others who might not be happy to have a new leader so suddenly. "Yes, your contract extends to getting Maggie home safely."

 

"You think Lamia would hurt her? She was professional, cordial the entire time." Quinn's tone was neutral.

 

"I think there's no such thing as paranoia in our line of work."

 

"Fair point."

 

"Text me an address. I'll ship two artifacts."

 

"For two, I'll stay with Maggie until you text me they're shipped."

 

"Thanks, Quinn." Eliot ended the call and turned to Hardison. "Need you to track someone for me. Sending you a picture now."

 

"Who's this?" Hardison asked. "Girlfriend we don't know about?"

 

"Farthest thing from," Eliot said. "She left Chamblin House in London about ten a.m. local time day before yesterday."

 

He finished getting dressed while Hardison tapped commands on his laptop.

 

"You're not going to believe this," Hardison said. "She's here. In Portland."

 

"The brewpub?" Eliot asked.

 

"Nah, she ain't been there. She checked in to a Hilton not far from the airport when she arrived."

 

"She still there?"

 

Hardison frowned at his screen. "No, she got into a taxi an hour ago."

 

"Where's she going?"

 

Hardison tapped more keys. "I hacked the cab company's dispatch system, but this makes no sense. She hired a taxi to drop her off at St. Johns Bridge."

 

Understanding flooded through Eliot. "The northeast anchorage."

 

Hardison stared at him. "How'd you know?"

 

Eliot ignored the question. "I need to get there. Where's the nurse?"

 

#

 

Of all the junior Librarians - or Librarians in Training, as Mr. Carsen had dubbed them - to blunder into leading an Intercession-turned-Conclave, why did it have to be Mr. Jones?

 

Of course, the man now known only as Jenkins realized, the answer lay in the phrasing of the question itself. Only Mr. Jones would blunder into such a situation. Ms. Cillian would have come to him to ask what she should do, and Mr. Stone would have been carefully noncommittal while he studied the situation, and if he had chosen to take the position of Arbiter, he would have carried out the role with appropriate gravitas.

 

But even Mr. Stone's gravitas would be sorely tested with so many different factions gathered in one room - Dabra of the City of Bronze, representing the Djinn; Lady Sylalandria of the Fey Legions; Cuchlann of the Iron Kingdom, and five others. With the Arbiter, they were just enough for a quorum.

 

But as Jones managed the meeting - reasonably well, now that there were actual conflicts and personalities involved - Jenkins puzzled over the question of the hour.

 

Who had called the Conclave, and to what purpose?

 

"Bam!" Jones' exclamation jarred Jenkins from his reverie. "Next order of business, a motion to allow lupin membership for both the Guild of Fictional Entities and the World Crime League on a provisional basis. Do I hear a second?"

 

Jenkins didn't bother to note who seconded the motion - the Library would track those details, but he was disturbed that the motion passed unanimously. He would've thought someone would've objected to lupin membership in the World Crime League. He gave a silent sigh. Times had certainly changed.

 

"Motion passed," Mr. Jones noted. "Pleasure to be your Arbiter. Next -"

 

"I request to be recognized, and to address the Conclave."

 

Jenkins looked up, frowning when he recognized Lamia. What was she doing here? And with her here, could Dulaque be far behind?

 

"Does the Arbiter recognize me?" Lamia asked.

 

"Nope," Mr. Jones lied smoothly. "Never seen you before."

 

Lamia glared first at him, then at each of the members of the Conclave in turn. None of them spoke in her defense. Just as Jenkins was about to rise and escort Lamia out, Lady Sylalandria stirred.

 

"The Fey Legions recognize the Lady of Benwick," she said, however reluctantly, "and accept her authority to speak for the son of Ban."

 

Jenkins met Mr. Jones' questioning glance, gave a shrug. It would be easier to hear Lamia out than to challenge the Fey Legions' recognition.

 

Lamia smiled, turned to the others gathered at the table. "Esteemed colleagues, entities, extra-planar beings, and others. I regret that my lord of Benwick could not be here to address you in person, but I bring his words to share with you."

 

An icy chill crept down Jenkins' spine. Where was Dulaque, and what was he doing, that he would send Lamia to speak for him?

 

"These are trying times," Lamia continued, "and yet how long has it been since a Conclave was convened?"

 

There was a trap in her words, Jenkins knew, but where was it?

 

"Long enough that minor irritations," she glanced at the scroll loosely rolled before Mr. Drake, "have festered. Why? Because the Librarian refused to deal with them."

 

"The Librarian," Mr. Jones interrupted, "likes to think that ancient, immortal beings can handle minor irritations themselves. Certainly better than we mere mortals can."

 

"Be that as it may," Lamia continued, though Jenkins was pleased to note that she looked somewhat irritated, "it is beyond dispute that the Librarian has not been … shall we say, proactive … in heading off such disputes. I submit - the son of Ban submits - that the Library has outlived its usefulness."

 

Jenkins couldn't look away from Lamia. Her plan - Dulaque's plan - was coming clear, and he had no way to counter it, no tactic or strategy that would stop her - stop _him_ \- from achieving it.

 

"In fact," Lamia continued, "if the rumor is to be believed, the current Librarian has lost the Library itself."

 

"Only because it came under attack," Mr. Jones countered. "And as I recall, you were part of the attacking force."

 

"Such baseless accusation." Lamia almost purred. "Unbecoming of an Arbiter."

 

Lamia circled the table, a predator going in for the kill. "Are these the hands we should place our trust in?"

 

"I'd sooner trust theirs than yours."

 

The Oklahoma drawl was familiar, and Lamia recognized it too, judging by her sudden pallor. Just how, Jenkins wondered, did she know Eliot Spencer?

 

"Who are you to intrude on the Conclave?" Mr. Drake demanded, his voice all but drowning out Mr. Jones' startled, "Stone? I thought you were -"

 

Jenkins slammed the edge of his heel onto Mr. Jones' arch. Not the most subtle of moves, but whatever had brought Mr. Spencer here, Jenkins couldn't allow Mr. Jones' ignorance to risk his life.

 

"Me? I'm Eliot Spencer." The man emerged from the corridor leading to the outside entrance.

 

Dabra flinched.

 

  1. Jenkins filed that away for future consideration.



 

Lamia had seen the reaction, too. "You know this man?"

 

"I do," Dabra admitted reluctantly.

 

"And you'll recognize him?" Jenkins asked. "Allow him to address the conclave?"

 

Dabra hesitated. "I -"

 

"I don't need his permission." Mr. Spencer approached the table. "The Conclave has already recognized me."

 

"I'm certain I would recognize you, if we'd met," Lady Sylalandria said, her tone far more seductive than the situation warranted.

 

Mr. Spencer grinned at her. "I'm sure you would. But that's not what I meant." He turned to address the gathered Conclave. "You've accepted the Lady of Benwick's bona fides, and therefore you've accepted mine. I'm lord of the house of Benwick."

 

The members of the Conclave sat in stunned silence - then Lady Sylalandria's visage changed, and suddenly it was clear why peoples of all cultures had feared the Fey as much as they'd loved them. "How is that possible?"

 

"He killed the son of Ban," Lamia said, and a murmur of surprise ran around the table.

 

Jenkins concealed his own surprise. Dulaque - du Lac, to give him his proper appellation - had been the best swordsman the world had ever known, and maintained that reputation, that skill, for centuries. How had Eliot Spencer defeated him?

 

"You left out a detail, darlin'," Mr. Spencer drawled. "You asked me to."

 

The Conclave erupted.

 

#

 

Eliot waited out the storm his words had brought.

 

He'd known he could never trust Lamia. He just hadn't expected this particular scenario. Then again, he was still ignorant of much of this magical world he'd been thrust into.

 

Luckily, he was a fast learner.

 

"Why should we believe this?" The bald Asian man demanded. "We know the Lady Benwick. We don't know you."

 

"Dabra does," Eliot replied.

 

"I know Eliot Spencer," Dabra countered. Apparently he thought there was strength in numbers, and that most of the numbers at the table would ally with him. "Nothing in Eliot Spencer's background suggests he's of Benwick."

 

"I'll admit, the research was challenging." Even for Hardison, and that was saying something. "But both sides of my family trace their lineage back to Benwick."

 

Then Eliot glanced around. "But this is the Library - or an Annex thereof. Full of magical items and spells. One of those has to be a truth sensor."

 

"There is one," Jenkins said. "Maat's ostrich feather."

 

Eliot wished Jake were here - his twin might have a clue who or what Maat was. Certainly, it wasn't the overgrown ostrich he was picturing.

 

"That was lost when the Hebrews left Egypt," a man in a white shirt and bright kilt said.

 

"And recovered when the Library's main entrance was at Camelot," Jenkins replied.

 

"But the Library is lost," Lamia said.

 

"Truth never is," Jenkins countered, then looked at Mr. Spencer. "Tell the truth - and believe it."

 

"Of course I believe it," Eliot said. "It's the truth."

 

"There's truth, and there's _truth_ ," Jenkins said. "We can say it's ten o'clock, and that may be true when we say it, but there's no emphasis, no import, behind the statement. _Truth_ puts you at risk, because it reveals your convictions and your commitments. As the Quakers said, speak truth to power."

 

Eliot took a breath, let it out slowly. Did he believe his claims were _truth_? He'd never questioned Hardison's research before, but this was research that stretched back to times not only before computers, but before most people could read and write. This was based as much on legend and rumor as fact, if not more.

 

But then, wasn't that its own kind of truth? Hadn't Jake come alive with the truths he'd found in art and history? Didn't religion offer that kind of truth for its adherents?

 

Eliot breathed in and out once more, then focused on the Asian man who'd questioned him.

 

"I am Eliot Spencer. I am descended from Ban of Benwick through his son Lancelot, and his son Galahad, on both sides of my family - the Spencers and the Stones. I am the elder son, and I am the lord of Benwick." He turned to look at Lamia. "The _Dowager_ Lady Benwick does not speak for me."

 

Eliot looked back at the group seated at the table, to find they were all staring at him in varying degrees of shock.

 

No, not at _him_ , Eliot realized, but at a point above his head. He looked up, and felt his own shock.

 

An ostrich feather hung suspended in the air, twisting gently as though caught by a breeze.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jacob Stone wanted a drink.

 

He didn't get that feeling often, but if any day required a drink, today did.

 

First, they'd stolen a pearl from a dragon's lair. Then he - not they, _he_ \- had caused enough of a scene in the Lorenzo Museum that they - not _just_ he - were banned from ever returning.

 

Then, and most disturbing, Cassandra had set up a cascading failure of Europe's power grid that would've killed some three quarters of a million people, if she'd succeeded. That she hadn't succeeded was a happy accident resulting from her mathematical gift, and Jacob's own habit of scanning every scrap of the written word that he saw.

 

"… Did you say six?"

 

Cassandra collapsed, and Jacob caught her before she could hit the floor. She had enough headaches thanks to her tumor - she didn't need another one.

 

"Euler was the off switch, not pi." Flynn sounded both surprised and impressed.

 

Jacob shrugged one shoulder - all he could manage while he was still holding Cassandra. "She writes a lot in this little notebook. I pay attention."

 

Then Cassandra was recovering, asking where her clothes were. Jacob had grabbed her dress somewhere along the trail they'd followed to find her, and now offered it to her, only then realizing that Flynn and Eve were both chasing the apple Cassandra had dropped when she passed out, following it across the control room.

 

"Don't touch it," Jacob started, but they were already reaching for it.

 

Then Parker appeared - where had she gone? And when? Jacob didn't know - with the chest that had held the apple, and with a move that would have done a lacrosse player proud, caught the apple on the lid of the chest, swinging the chest so the apple fell inside. She snapped the lid shut with a bang that echoed throughout the room.

 

"You almost broke my fingers!" Flynn exclaimed.

 

"You almost touched it," Parker countered.

 

"Instinct," Eve said, but Jacob heard the question in her tone.

 

"Well." Flynn surveyed the rest of the group. "Cassandra, you okay? Okay enough? All right, then, give me the box, and let's go home."

 

Flynn held out his hand, but Parker stepped back.

 

"You tried to touch it," she said.

 

"I won't touch it," Flynn told her. "Just the box. And just until we get it back to the Annex, where it'll be safe."

 

"I'll take it," Parker said, her lips set at a determined tilt.

 

Flynn looked ready to argue some more, so Jacob took a step forward. "Shouldn't we get back to the Annex, make sure Jones hasn't gotten himself fried while we're gone?"

 

"That would be a serious breach of protocol," Flynn said. "It would take a lot to provoke even Mr. Drake to that level."

 

"If anyone can provoke a lot, it's Jones," Eve said. "Stone's right. We should get back."

 

With a last look at the box Parker clutched, Flynn said, "Let's go."

 

#

 

"I'm new to this world of magic," Eliot said into the silence that followed the appearance of the ostrich feather over his head. "But I'm not new to people. I've seen the best of them and the worst of them. Hell," he added with rueful honesty, "I've _been_ the worst of them. And that's why the Library is a good thing. It can balance the best and the worst of us."

 

"You speak idealistically," Drake said.

 

"Yeah, I do," Eliot admitted easily. "Thing is, it's the ideals we choose that make us who we are. We don't always live up to them, but trying to - that's a good thing, and that makes us better people."

 

"How does that support retaining the Library and Librarians?" Lady Sylalandra asked.

 

So that's where the conspiracy came from, Eliot thought. The speakers were too calculated - too angry in Drake's case, too curious in Sylalandra's - to be genuine.

 

He'd have to thank Sophie for her instruction in grifting. After he dealt with this.

 

"It doesn't," Eliot said and bit back a grin at the shocked expression on the Arbiter's face. "If you don't believe the same way, nothing will support retaining the Library. But if you believe that having neutral ground, a place to meet to resolve your differences, is a good thing, then I submit the Library already serves that purpose."

 

"But it hasn't." The objection came from Dabra, and this one sounded genuine. Plus, Eliot knew Dabra to be an opportunist. If Dabra saw some chance at gain, he'd take it. "The Lady Benwick reminded us that the Librarian hasn't been dealing with those differences."

 

"How many of you have brought issues before the Librarian?" Eliot asked. He didn't know the answer, but he was betting that - yes, he was right. No one spoke.

 

"Uh-huh. So you're blaming the Librarian for - what? Not knowing that you have a problem because you didn’t tell him? Seems to me the failure's with you, not them."

 

Eliot let the point sink in, then turned to the Arbiter. "Let the record show that Benwick stands with the Library and the Librarians."

 

Without waiting for a reply, Eliot gave Lamia a look that had her swallowing nervously and moving to join him as he turned for the exit.

 

Good. They needed to talk. Preferably before Jake got back from wherever he was and all hell broke loose.

 

#

 

It wasn't just Mr. Drake that had come for a visit.

 

When he stepped through the back door into the Annex, Jacob heard several voices raised in what could be called enthusiastic discussion - the kind that often preceded a bar fight.

 

"Oh, no," Flynn said. "No no no no no no."

 

Then he was gone, almost as quickly as Parker could disappear, and after a questioning glance at Eve, whose puzzled frown showed she had no more idea what that meant than he did, Jacob started after Flynn.

 

Flynn had stopped in the entry to the main room and was staring at the gathering when Jacob caught up to him. Then Jacob, too, stared.

 

Besides Mr. Drake, ten others - men and women of different races, including one woman with … pointed ears? - had joined them and were now bickering among themselves.

 

Flynn, apparently, had picked out the topic, and stepped forward.

 

"Ladies, gentlemen, others - we need to put all this foolishness behind us before things get out of hand," Flynn said. "Unrestrained magic can be dangerous. I mean, all it really takes is one lunatic, one Pol Pot, one Nero, even one usually nice guy having a really bad day who has access to that kind of power to make it all go away. And it can all go away, unless and this is really the takeaway here we have a Library. And that is why we need a Librarian, right? To protect us. To protect us all."

 

Jacob had always liked Flynn - the senior Librarian was a likeable kind of guy, even when he was driving everyone around him batshit crazy thanks to his kangaroo-like leaps of logic - but it was in that moment that Jacob learned to respect him.

 

"Librarians aren't perfect," Flynn continued. "None of us are. But somebody needs to hold the line. Somebody needs to keep it on an even keel. And that being said, Mr. Arbiter, I believe we have a motion on the floor."

 

Jones cleared his throat. "All in favor of replacing the Library or whatever?"

 

The silence was welcome.

 

"All opposed?" Jones asked.

 

A chorus of "Nay!" echoed through the Annex.

 

"Sounds pretty unanimous to me," Jones said.

 

"No! We don't agree." Mr. Drake rose to his feet, anger limning his features. "Our business is not done. You have not returned the stolen pearl of the Fei Lung. You have not fulfilled your duties as arbiter. And for that, the Fei Lung will wreak horrible vengeance. They will -"

 

"But we have the pearl," Jacob said. He turned to Parker, who stepped forward and opened the chest that she still carried.

 

"What I want to know," Jones broke in, "is why you're still here. Shouldn't you have bolted the minute this turned up, mate? You see, ladies, gents, the minute I heard the story of the stolen pearl, my very good thief brain began thinking, who had access? Who do the Eastern dragons trust? Any idea who that could be, Mr. Drake?"

 

Jacob knew he wasn't the only one staring at Drake, but Drake didn't say anything in answer to Jones' question. Instead, he simply bowed, not quite briefly enough to be an insult, and turned to stalk away.

 

Jones turned back to face the others. "And that, my dear friends, is how you arbit." Then he frowned. "Arbit? Arbitrize."

 

Jacob could've told him the proper verb was _arbitrate_ , but Jones had taken this job on himself, so he could figure it out for himself.

 

Apparently, Jones gave up after that one, half-hearted try. "Right! Conclave over! Everybody out!"

 

Within minutes, the Annex was empty except for the Librarians and Parker.

 

Jenkins took a step toward Parker. "If you'll give me that, Miss, I'll see it's secured."

 

Parker hesitated, and Jacob was surprised when she looked to him for confirmation.

 

"Jenkins knows what to do with it," Jacob told her.

 

Parker looked at Jenkins. "Don't touch it."

 

"I assure you, I won't."

 

Parker hesitated a moment longer, then surrendered the chest. Jenkins took it with a slight bow, and disappeared into the depths of the Annex.

 

"Thanks for your help," Jacob told her.

 

"It was fun, stealing from a dragon," Parker said. "I'm going to do it again."

 

"Again?" Jacob figured his expression, like his question, echoed the others'.

 

"See if I can get in and out without waking them up."

 

Flynn cleared his throat. "You realize that dragons don't take kindly to people stealing from them."

 

"Oh, it's okay," Parker said with a smile. "The one we talked to said so, as long as I put everything back."

 

"You'll put everything back?" Ezekiel said, disbelief evident in his tone.

 

"Uh-huh. Just stealing's boring."

 

"Boring?" Where Ezekiel had been stunned before, now he looked ready to explode. Jacob bit back a grin, saw that Eve, too, was struggling to contain a grin. Cassandra stared wide-eyed between the two thieves, and Flynn looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

 

"Stealing with a purpose is much more interesting," Parker said casually.

 

"Spoken like someone who's never really stolen anything worth stealing," Ezekiel said.

 

Jacob couldn't resist. "You mean besides the Apple of Discord, otherwise known as the Pearl of Zhou?"

 

"Yeah, but you were with her," Ezekiel countered. "Not that you're a lot of help, but you're some."

 

"That one," Parker stabbed a finger at Flynn, and Jacob double-checked to be sure she wasn't holding a dart from the trap room, "almost got me killed. Some help."

 

"So what's the most valuable thing you ever stole, without help?"

 

"Ezekiel," Cassandra began, but Parker was already answering.

 

"Does it count if I put it back? Because I put the Hope Diamond back."

 

"No, it doesn't count if you put it back," Ezekiel almost shouted.

 

"Oh." Parker thought for a moment. "The Lion of Gilgamesh. Or maybe the Gem of Gibraltar."

 

Ezekiel had no immediate response other than to stare at Parker in almost open-mouthed shock, and Parker looked at Jacob, a question in her eyes. He nodded, once, and that seemed to be all she needed, because she gave him a quick smile and a nod in return. He'd call if they needed her skills again, but given Ezekiel, they both knew that wasn't likely.

 

Parker turned toward the Annex's main entrance, but before she could take more than a step, Ezekiel called after her.

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Parker," she called over her shoulder.

 

Ezekiel could only stare after her until they heard the main door closing. Then he turned his stare on Jacob.

 

"You - you have _Parker_ on speed dial?"

 

Jacob just grinned. That wasn't exactly the case, but if it helped take Ezekiel's ego down a peg, he'd let the other man think so. It made the successful completion of a mission all the more satisfying.

 

Jacob turned to head back into the stacks. He'd left several books on classical architecture opened when he and the others had been summoned to deal with the dragons, and he was eager to get back to them. An article was taking shape in his mind, but he needed a little more research before he was ready to write.

 

"One last thing, mate."

 

Ezekiel's voice made Jacob pause, but not turn.

 

"Why didn't you tell us you have a twin brother?"

 

 


End file.
